


Crashes and Splashes in Deuces

by Septembre_Rain (Zyrielle)



Series: The Dad Book [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Baby Noctis Lucis Caelum, Baby Prompto Argentum, Clarus gets some R&R, Disastrous messages, Driving accident, Fishing disaster, Garage Accident, Goofball Glaives, Losing to a fish, Other, Parent Clarus Amicitia, Parent Cor Leonis, Parent Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, Restaurant Disaster, Tug of war, Unhelpful text messages, Whining, baby Gladiolus Amicitia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 12:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyrielle/pseuds/Septembre_Rain
Summary: Cor manages to do the following things with a single message. On.Clarus'.afternoon.off.Jump-start Clarus’ divorceGet Cid banned indefinitely from his own garageDrive Weskham to near bankruptcyUnite the Kingsglaive in a front against Regis’ fishing habitsPoor Clarus can't catch a break.





	Crashes and Splashes in Deuces

**Author's Note:**

> Heyaz! 'The book'doesn't make much of an appearance here. It's mostly their reactions to Cor's last message-where the last story left off. THIS STORY WILL MAKE MORE SENSE IF YOU READ THAT FIRST.
> 
> This will not be in chapters. Because seeing the chapters displaying an unfinished number gives me anxiety. hahaha. They are dads this time but I will be writing more of the younger DadBros in the future because Dadbros give me life and Cor being a lovable little shit makes my world go round. 
> 
>  
> 
> Bonus points if you get the title of Clarus' book
> 
> I would also like to thank Wisp, my lovely beta.

 

Cor knew he was being a little shit.

 

If the responses he was getting through the book was anything to go by, he had successfully-though not purposely, done the following things:

 

Jump-started Clarus’ divorce

Gotten Cid banned indefinitely from his own garage

Driven Weskham to near bankruptcy

United the Kingsglaive in a front against Regis’ fishing habits

 

Well, he was being a big shit since the squirming blond bundle in his arms was now officially THE little shit.

 

Cor sighed. He was tired and covered in baby barf, excrement, and considering the chaos they had both-yes, both-baby shares the blame in this-caused in from Altissia to Leide and in the Citadel. Cor was sure the deceptive large blue eyes and adorable pouty face and chubby cheeks were all part of the arsenal of this weapon of mass destruction. Yes. That was what the Imperials had designed him for and he was succeeding.

Cor mentally slapped himself. He needed sleep. The baby needed sleep. Well, the baby needed to stop puking and sleep. Cor needed to clean him up, then get him to sleep. Then he needed to feed himself, get cleaned, and sleep. In that order.

Baby of mass destruction was looking at him again. He was studying Cor with those huge eyes of his as if Cor was a puzzle, something to be solved. He did that whenever Cor got quiet. Cor put on his most stern face, one that put the fear of gods into the hearts of many a glaive and guard. He wore the expression that told people that if they wanted to live, they would stay out of his way.

 

He cleared his throat and said in his deepest voice that was more growl than anything, “Are you done fussing around?”

 

See, if he had done this to anyone else in the Citadel, and he did on occasion, he would be met with cowed heads, apologies, and outbursts of tears. Clarus would drag him to Regis’ office and Regis would take out the good whiskey. But this adorable lip quivering little shit, who's been making Cor’s life a living hell for the past few hours, stills in his arms, tensing up. Then he bursts into a fit of giggles. Cor contemplates a bit. This was not the a normal reaction from any living being, but then again, he was holding a supposed weapon of mass destruction. The baby probably had guns and grenades on his bedside instead of plushies. ‘Don’t go there’ Cor thinks and forces himself to relax. He was good at what he did, but the baby definitely threw a wrench in his plans of a quick escape back home.

Cor didn't even know if he was going to bring the baby home or how or if he was even supposed to. He didn't know what he was doing, period. He decides to focus on keeping them both alive. It was the one thing he was sure of at the moment. He was “The Immortal” after all. He hopes that name would ring true for now-just so he could make sure the baby would be in put in better hands at least.Cor won't think about that yet.

 

He sets about getting the baby clean. He winces as he shifts the baby to his slightly bloody bandaged hip. The one potion he used was only enough to get him back to functional. He was rationing his supply of curatives until he could at least get to Altissia. Wesk was there. Wesk would… probably kill him now that he thought about it, but Cor could use the baby of mass destruction. Wesk surely wouldn't try to pull anything then. Then the little shit sneezed. Right. First, survival. He huffs at the baby and nudges a fat cheek. Gods he was so small.

“You have to live through this alright?”

Bright, vulnerable blue eyes bore into his own.

 

Next thing he knows, feels, and smells is the fresh wave of barf that pours over them both, the warmth of it soaking his clothes and bandages, not unlike blood.

 

 

**“I’m dying and the baby won't stop puking. I think we're both dying. Please help.”**

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

-A few hours prior-

 

 

Clarus was having a good day.

 

Being the king's shield was a fulltime job. Despite the all the preparations he went through since childhood, growing into the role, and all the trainings he had undergone his whole life, it still wasn't easy.

 

That being said, he had very healthy appreciation for life when things went his way. Heck, things didn't even have to go his way for him to be appreciative. If his day did not include any bloodshed between the crownsguard or glaives, incident reports, citadel emergencies, bad news about the imperials, anything involving the press, bickering councilmen, calls from Gladio's school, or impromptu search parties for the king-who at least once a month enjoyed shaving five years off Clarus' lifespan by pulling disappearing acts when he felt he needed a breather. Twice or thrice, the entire Citadel had been placed on lockdown because Regis took off with his son.

Clarus understood the need for space when things became too much. He'd offered to set up a security detail that would be discreet-he wouldn't even know that they were there. Regis refused. Clarus and Cor set up the team of the elite guard anyways. The team was composed of the best of the best glaives. They stealthy assassins and spies who were experts in hiding and blending into their surroundings. Discretion and secrecy was their forte.

Regis still manages to escape them anyways. Clarus had half the mind to put a collar or embedding a tracking device on the king. He might put one on Noct. He could disguise it in the prince's socks or in one of the hideous plushies that was always tucked in his arms.

 

Anyways that was a thought for another day. Today, Regis had been just as eager to get his tasks for the day done. They were getting the afternoon off. No Meetings, no paperwork, everything else was delegated to ensure that things would still be functional, and the appropriate people were handling the necessary roles to maintain order.

 

Really, days-even half days off for the king and shield were so few and far in between, and therefore sacred. Clarus and the King spent almost all waking hours together, everyday because of their respective roles. It had been that way since they could remember. It wasn't always just the two of them, there used to be more of them. But things changed because of the war.

 

Wesk chose to stay in Accordo because he would be more useful there. He could not in good faith escape with Regis' retinue when his own country was falling under the empire's attack. None of them could find fault in that. Cid went to Hammerhead because of family. His son had set up a garage there and had started a family of his own. Last he heard, Mid had an accident a few months back and Cid had been pretty silent since then. Communication with Cid was not easy. The man was not a fan of new tech and preferred his wrenches and greasy engines. They were at least complacent that Cid was a tough one. A few select glaives and guards that were out on missions that were in the way of Hammerhead would check and pass word that the former royal mechanic was still running the place. As for Cor, well, Cor was Cor- a hotblooded troublemaking prodigy that couldn't sit still when there was war brewing. So off he went, on a multitude of missions, often travelling outside of Lucis.  

 

So for now, it was him and Regis-and they had the afternoon off. But before that, he had lunch with the king and prince. Noct sat in a high chair to his father's right and threw mashed brussels sprouts everywhere. Regis didn't seem to mind being half-speckled with baby food as much as Noctis enjoyed splattering it on his father.

"Sharing is caring. Right son?" The king simply said and patted his son's head fondly when Clarus looked at him like he was something that had just crawled up from the sink.

"Besides, the fish won't mind if I'm covered in baby goo when I catch them."

"Ah yes. Do name one of them Dario for me, will you? Then slap him around none too gently before you gut him."

"That's awfully dark coming from you Clarus. What did he do this time?"

"Oh nothing major. He's just fulfilling his role of being a chauvinist bigot."

"Why don't you come with? You can do the honors of roasting Dario in a spit too, along with his friends Leda and Porthos."

Clarus winces. "I'm not sure I want to eat much less touch anything remotely related to Leda and Porthos. There are much better ways to die, thank you."

"Pity, the gladiolas and irises are in bloom at the conservation. I'm sure someone would appreciate them. Particularly a pissed off Amicitia wife."

 

Clarus glares.

Regis smirks.

 

"Did you know that her husband forgot her namesake day? What callous, insensitive-"

"I was with you, your majesty. If you hadn't-"

"She was waiting in the restaurant for 3 hours! Can you Imagine-"

"Regis."

 

"I'll see you at around… four?"

"I'll bring Gladio. He seems to enjoy the outdoors much more than I do."

"Sure. Noct could use the company, although he does like the fish. Remember when it was just you and me and several bottles of whiskey?"

"I miss the whiskey. You? Not so much."

"Good times."

Noct chooses this moment to taste his green goo and projectile vomits across the table.

"Oh well. I'm sure Dario, Leda and Porthos taste better than this, right Noct?"

Noct wails.

"That's my boy."

 

~~~

 

Clarus makes the most of the few hours of free time that he has. He goes for a massage.

He basks in the ambience-superficial though it may be, but the Citadel had the BEST spa in all of Lucis. Of course they did. What with all the stressed out glaives, guards, lawyers, councilmembers, lawyers, etc. The stress levels of people working in the Citadel was off the roof. Anger management and recreational classes could only do so much after all. The spa had an entire wing to itself. They had the best of all the best-no expense was spared. The people running and defending the kingdom deserved the best care and at least some reprieve after all.

Clarus would come here every night if he could, but his work hours were long and he had a family waiting at home, and sleep was a thing that his body needed as well.

He got the full body massage-one where his muscles and joints were kneaded until he felt like butter. He dozed off in the middle of it and woke up feeling a few years younger.   

After the massage, Clarus went to his favorite café and picked up a drink that he only allowed himself once every few months. Wesk would be disgusted and his physician would have a conniption over the sugar levels, but they didn't have to know. He also ordered another drink, a herbal tea he couldn't be bothered to pronounce and left.  

Drinks in hand, he walked leisurely to a nondescript bookstore. It was quiet and empty, save for the stern looking spectacled old lady behind the counter which he walks right up to.

 

"Do you have them?"

The clerk looks up at him before an all-knowing smile lights her face. "You know I do."

She retreats to the small office at the back and returns with a plain paper bag.

"It wasn't easy finding these. They stopped printing them 25 years ago."

Clarus pulls the goods out one by one. There are three in total. Each one in glorious hardbound leather, their covers plain save for a gold embossed flower and border. One would easily mistake it for a journal or an old tome, something one wouldn't pay attention to, unless they knew exactly what they were looking for-and had peculiar taste in books.

Clarus had peculiar taste in books. He runs his fingers over them reverently.

"Oh Abel…"

"I know right? The Quinque Umbrae of Griseo Trilogy. It was quite the controversial hit back then, each book even had its own movie!"

"You are the best…"

"I know."

He hands her the tea. "Oh yeah, this is for you."

"Oh you shouldn't have."

"Yes I should."

She laughs. "You never got these from me okay? I've read these before and… Well, it's not my cup of tea. Couldn't stomach the uh, romance." She winces at the last word.

"What are you talking about Abel? I was never here."

Clarus winks at her, takes a sip of his own drink, slips on his shades-a disguise, and saunters out the door, bag in hand. Just for a moment, he imagines himself just as cool as the suave heroes in the books.

He'll sink into a ball of shame later but it's his afternoon off and giving fucks isn't in the agenda.

 

Gladio's preschool class hasn't been dismissed yet so Clarus sits on a bench, basking in the warm afternoon sun, with his drink beside him and an innocently disguised book on his knee. He's got a good twenty minutes of reading before he hears his son's voice. "Dad! You're here!"

He closes his book and disposes of the cup in a waste bin. He walks over to the gate and bends over to receive a hug from Gladio before they walk over to the car.

 

Gladio is secured in a child seat in the back, happily chattering away about his day as Clarus drives. He wonders sometimes if this is what his life would have been if he had not been the Shield-blissfully domestic. But then again his life had been set out for him since he was born, and he could only appreciate moments like this because his life was the exact opposite of this. He could never imagine a languid and undemanding life for himself, no matter how much he swears in front of Regis and how some people in the Citadel drive him up the wall.

This afternoon had been a treat nonetheless.  

He approaches the gate to conservation park, passing a sign that says 'CLOSED DUE TO MAINTENANCE'.

The conservation park was strategically surrounded by repairmen, servicemen, pest control, veterinary staff, and security guards-all crownsguard in disguise.

"It's like a huge costume party." Clarus had joked. It wouldn't do after all, to see the crownsguard condensed in one area. They might as well as put a giant neon target sign on Regis' back. They were all appropriately armed regardless, only the glaives were in full uniform, armed to the teeth-the full enchilada, but they were hidden in the unmarked black cars.

 

The glaives were a strike force mandated by protocol for every royal outing. The thirty or so escorts milling about are just a bare minimum for incognito outings. Normally they would do with less, but with the rising tension with Nifleheim, they would much rather be over-prepared than under. Plus they were not only watching the King of Lucis, Highest figure in the kingdom, Protector of the wall and lifeblood of the crystal-but also his son, the crown prince.

Normally Regis would be less than amenable to such levels of security and rather settle on a much smaller team as an escort for a simple fishing trip. But given that Noct was joining him on this trip, he begrudgingly agreed. There was nothing Regis wouldn't do for his son after all.

Gladio is busy 'ooh-ing and aah-ing' at the park, eyes all bright and sparkly. He's naming off guards that he knows.

"Why is Terras dressed like a doctor? How come Caleb has a broom in his hands? Did he get in trouble with Cor again?"

Clarus laughs at that part. "No Gladio, Terras and Caleb are helping out here at the conservation park."

 

They drive deeper into the conservation park, closer to the lake where the king is. There are no crownsguard visible here. Only the elite guard, concealed but deadly. Normally it would be Cor or Clarus around the king, but the Marshal was out on a mission and Clarus was off duty. The elite guard was handpicked and trained by Cor and Clarus themselves. They chose only the stealthiest and most deadly of assassins with unquestionable loyalty. They're like a small team of young Cors but without the snark, maybe. They kept their mouths shut around the King and Shield (as far as he knew). It was unnerving at times. But Regis was Regis, and was determined to break through the stoic facade Clarus and Cor had ingrained in them. They had their moments, breaking out of character and showing some personality, but often they were more afraid of Cor and Clarus than they were of the King-which said a lot about the Marshal and Shield.

This works out to Regis' favor sometimes. He'd rather be surrounded by concealed deadly assassins rather than be fussed over and suffocated by a hundred sweaty guards breathing down his neck in the open. He can at least pretend they aren't there and they didn't scare the fish away.

 

It is very rarely that they get their moments of peace. Clarus indulges him every once in a while-particularly on days off.

"Oh look dad! Gladiolas!" Gladio is practically bouncing in his seat.

Clarus smiles warmly as he looks at his son from the mirror.

 

They enter the lake's dedicated parking lot. Clarus can see Regis a few meters away on a fishing dock attached to a small shack selling supplies. His Majesty seems to be in the midst of a tug of war with one of the gigantic fish in the lake, if the grimace on his face, straining arms and teetering posture are anything to go by. He waves and Regis sends him a look that screams 'Hurry up and help me pull this monstrosity.' There is a baby carriage right beside Regis and he can see the prince's dark head peering over the edge, cheerfully babbling at his struggling father and clapping at the fish in the cooler nearby.

 

He's pulling up into a parking spot, foot pressed on the pedal, when he hears it.

A shrill but melodious tone pierces the air.  

 

It is the telltale tone that has dragged Clarus from bed many times before, it is also the same tone that serves as a premonition for unmitigated disaster. It is a tone he has haunted his dreams many times over. In reality, he has not heard it in a long time, except in those days when he and Regis were sick with worry over-

 

Cor.

 

His eyes fly to the phone resting in its stand on the dashboard.

He grabs it and reads the single line within the message.

He feels the bumps and hears the crunch of his car meeting and breaking brittle wood but doesn't see it.

 

A little too late, he finally remembers to release the pedal. He twists back, checking on his son before anything else.

Gladio is shouting, freaking out but unharmed.

His car was backed into the flimsy fishing shack beside the dock. Supplies were crushed and scattered all around.

 

"Dad…Mom is gonna kill you."

 

He looks out at Regis through his windscreen.

His Majesty is also looking at his phone with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

Clarus watches in frozen horror of slow motion catching up to speed the very moment that Regis loses the tug of war. In a split second that feels like ten, the fishing rod securely locked within Regis' arm gets dragged beneath the surface, taking his Majesty captive and all.

 

Splash.

 

Noct squeals.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Cindy had firm hands and a penchant for fixing things. She wasn't old enough to go to school yet, but she already knew the names of most of the tools in his toolbox. Cindy knew more than some of the other kids that worked at the garage and Cid couldn't be more proud.

It's been a long day and Cid is more than ready for it to end. He huffs at his current workload. It's a prototype of a type-D vehicle with monstrous wheels.

Cindy watched with great fascination from the beginning, as Cid took the thing apart and put it back together again, removing and replacing bits and pieces of the engine. After nearly two weeks of tinkering with the thing, his work with it was nearly done. The car was currently up on a lift, hanging about 12 feet in the air. Cid doing last minute checks on the engine from below. Tomorrow the car would be repainted, shined and released to the wild, to run free with the Garulessas this beast was obviously designed to imitate.

So far nothing about the car seemed out of place. She was ready.

“Looks good to me. Alright, lower her down Cindy.” he nods to the little girl wearing his faded old Hammerhead caps, too large for her small head.

“A’ryt Pawpaw!” Cindy shouts excitedly. She pulls the lever.

Cindy loved operating machinery too. He was so proud of her, the little grease monkey in the making.

Cid whistles as he starts spinning a wrench around his finger, not moving from underneath the car to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

He hears a chime. He doesn't think that it's his phone at first, since a.most people used the landline to contact the garage; and b. he only carried this phone around because Cindy forced him to and barely anyone knows the number.  Also, the tone is long forgotten, but the device is vibrating from his pocket so he digs it out and unlocks it with his free hand.

His whistling stops and the wrench flies out of his hand, forgotten.

He hears a sharp ‘bang’ and the protest of gears losing their grip but he pays it no mind. It's all background noise.

He mutters “What in tarnation-”

“Paw-paw!” Cindy screams.

The type-D lands much, much faster than it is supposed to.

 

Takka runs into the garage after hearing Cindy's screeching and the loud crash expecting the worst.

 

The type-D is not fine. The rims are shot and there are cracks on the windshield. Right underneath the oversized toy car, hidden behind the 6 feet tall wheels is a crying Cindy, beating her little fists into her grandfather’s side. Cid is fine-thank Six he's short, standing still as a statue, jaw slack, and phone in hand.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

“It’s finally here Mr. Armaugh!”

“Mercutio, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Weskham?”

“Not nearly enough, Mr. Armaugh.”

Weskham sighs. “What do you have for me today young man?”

“That delivery from Tenebrae you've been tracking for weeks is here. I picked it up from the station.” Mercutio beamed proudly. “Now, tell me who's the best apprentice in all of Eos?”

“You do know that the couriers are supposed to deliver it here themselves. It is part of the agreement.”

Mercutio deflates. “But I got it for you here much sooner!”

“Hmm, early collection of the parcels mean that their guarantee on them is rendered null and void upon collection. You did check the contents before you took them yes?”

“Err. No.”

“Hmmm.”

“I'll take them back-no wait, I can't. Sorry Mr. Armaugh. I'll pay for anything that's damaged.”

“Each bottle costs 90,000 gil, so that makes a box nearly half a million gil.”

Mercutio makes a shrill, panicked sound and pales.

Weskham barks a laugh and ruffles his groomed hair. “I appreciate your enthusiasm Mercutio, but you must always be sharp when it comes to these things. Lesson learned yes?”

Mercutio squeaks. “Yes sir Mr. Armaugh-sir!”

He laughs a bit more before getting up from his seat behind the bar and walks over to the gondola Mercutio left waiting. He counts ten small crates and carries one over to the bar. Mercutio hands him a crowbar and he pries the lid open. Six dark, gleaming bottles rest in a bed of hay. He picks one up.

 

The label reads:

 

Syllewaat Vintage Port

30 years

 

He raises the bottle and looks at the liquid against the light. The dark purple liquid, sloshes within, dark like ink.

Weskham hums, pleased.

“Take them to the back, Mercutio.”

Mercutio heads to the gondola and takes a crate, carrying it oh so carefully down the cellar behind the bar. Weskham helps him taking down his own share of crates.

A vendor comes down to the bar, with several containers of fresh fish. “Delivery!” He cheerily calls out.

“I'll take care of it Mr. Weskham!” Mercutio darts out from the cellar towards the man, taking the papers and opening the containers one by one.

Weskham smiles. There's only three crates left.

He stands on the gondola, admiring the view in the sunset. It never gets old. He sighs fondly and picks up another crate and once again looks out to the water. In the distance, a huge yacht speeds by, loud party music and scantily dressed passengers shouting and dancing on board. “Tourists.” Weskham mutters under his breath.

 

His phone gets a notification as he is about to step out of the gondola. His eyebrows furrow. The tone is one he doesn't recognize, but it sounds familiar. Setting the crate back down on top of the remaining two, he fishes his phone from the holster on his belt.

The name on top evokes memories and feelings rush back and it feels like the air is punched out of his lungs. He takes a seat and leans on the crates, trying to steady himself. He hasn't opened the message yet, but the name and its weight is enough to bring him to his knees.

 

He braces himself and opens the message.

Laughter. That is his first reaction. He laughs until his eyes water and and he coughs for breath. Some things never change.

Mercutio looks at him, concerned, but he waves him away.

He puts his phone back, thinking of how to respond as he gets up, arms still on the crates when the wake from the much larger boat hits them and rocks the gondola.

Weskham nearly topples over but finds his footing last minute by resting most of his weight on the wooden boxes containing the wine.

 

The gondola teeters, weight unbalanced due to the remaining crates and Wesk standing close to the edge on one end

 

The second wake hits and the gondola capsizes.

 

Weskham resurfaces, and the crates do not.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Regis hums. He hums verses but softly sings choruses. Noct is watching him with inquisitive eyes as he pries the lure from the flipping fish’s mouth. Regis plops it in the cooler softly singing ‘Let the Bodies Hit the Floor’. It only seems fitting after all. The fish flips around in the cooler, causing water to splash. Noct’s eyes widen. He squeals and claps his hands, entertained.

“That, my dear boy, is Dario. Uncle Clarus wants me to slap him around before we roast him in a fire.” He hears a giggleshort from somewhere in the trees. The king squints at where the sound came from. He likes to think that he'll be able to see the elusive assassin/bodyguard if he squints hard enough in the right direction. They keep themselves hidden from a measured distance-close enough to ensure a quick retrieve and escape, but also far enough to give him privacy and feel as though he's as unaccompanied as he looks.

 

“Now, let's see if your dear old dad can catch Leda or Porthos with ah-let’s see, a pink burrower or a yellow poppeck?”

Noctis reaches for the bright yellow feathered lure.

“Alright, poppeck it is.”

Regis starts humming and singing a new song  as he attaches the lure to the line.

Noctis lights up to the cheery tone and tries to imitate him, lip biting, drool leaking, humming that sometimes turns into blowing raspberries.

It's moments like these that Regis lives for. He kneels in front of the baby carriage, softly singing the lines of ‘What What in the Butt’ to his son.

 

“Permission to speak freely, your Majesty.” the voice comes from overhead, much closer than the gigglesnort from earlier.

“Go ahead” he hums again.

“Pardon me my king, but I don't think that’s... a suitable song choice for his highness.”

Regis merely raises an eyebrow, still humming.

The leaves rustle overhead, masking a soft whoosh of something moving fast in the air.

*Whack*

“You don't say something like that to the king!” a panicked hissy voice said.

“But the song...”

“Apologies your Majesty. Please disregard this embicile.”

 

“So you think the song choice is appropriate?”

“I-I… In a few years, maybe your majesty... Perhaps not even then.”

“...told you.”

*Whack*

Regis laughs out loud. “It's alright. He doesn't know what it means, not yet anyways.”

Noctis reaches out, demanding to be picked up. Regis picks his son up from the carriage and walks over to the edge of the dock. He sways a bit as he casts out the line while precariously balancing the prince on his hip.

It doesn't take long for the prince to grow impatient and try to squirm his way out of his father's arms and into the water. Regis sets Noct down, letting him explore by himself.

 

“Your Majesty, the prince is climbing the cooler.”

“That's alright. The fish will be fine.”

“That's not what I-”

 

The cooler topples over. A flash, a yelp, and a split second later, a shivering glaive stands behind the king, one arm full of protesting prince, and the other arm full of pissed off fish. He was half soaked in icy fishwater from the cooler. The prince was thankfully dry.

Regis looks up to see a very young glaive with braids on his head and an incredulous but relieved look on his face.

 

The king chuckles. “I can see you saved Dario.”

The glaive sputters. Regis rights the cooler and half fills it with conjured ice before sliding it towards the glaive.

“That's for Dario.”

“Really? I thought it was for the prince.”

“Hand him over.”

“The prince or the proxy councilman?”

“The unscaley one.”

“You know you could just say ‘my son', right?”

“I could.”

*Sigh*

 

The glaive hands Noct over. After thinking for a bit, he sets the cooler little more than a few meters back, just to make sure that the prince doesn't get any more ideas to climb into it.

 

Regis points towards the fishing shack. “They should have some clothes there.”

The glaive drops Dario into the icebox and shakes of the excess water.

“No need your majesty. I have this.” The glaive conjures a flame in the palm of one hand and starts drying his wet arm over it.

“You are literally roasting yourself in front of our king. Ramuh strike you down now and save our people from disgrace.” the voice above them hissed.

Noct clapped his hands at seeing the fire.

“Well the prince seems to enjoy the show, am I right your Highness?”

Noct just giggles and Regis smiles.

“If you're done drying yourself clown, get back up here. We're not supposed to be seen.” more hissing.

 

“A bit late for that.” Regis scoffs, but with humor. Noct reaches for the rod in Regis’ hand. The king is all too ready to start teaching him his one of his favorite hobbies. Noct wasn't quite ready to learn how to torment his court just yet. 

“Ready to learn how to fish, my boy?”

Regis puts the rod in the prince's chubby little hands, but since the said hands were too small, the prince ended up securing the rod with his arms and legs awkwardly wrapped around the leather handle.

It took several tries for the prince to finally have a strong enough grip on the rod.

 

Just then, two things happened consecutively, both involving fish and royalty. Regis would later label this the 'Royally Fishy' accident. Because, Regis.

First, Regis notices Dario attempting to escape, already half out of the cooler.

Next, the line in his hands, by proxy of the prince, lands a bite.

 

Instinctively, Regis tightens his grip in the rod and his son, while keeping an eye on the troublesome councilfish.

He has a split second to make a decision. He has at least two of his elite guards, the best glaives who would who would walk through fire to protect him and his son. Their priority was the royals' safety. Also, neither of them paid any mind to the escaping fish. Well, it wasn't part of their job description anyways.

 

Two seconds was all he had, nary a time for explanations.

 

"Glaives."

"Majesty?" -"Yeah?"

"Heads up."

 

The prince flies. The king vanishes in a burst of blue sparks.

"What the-"

"Highness!"

 

A kukris slices through the air, and stabs through he wood where the king stood earlier.

The hissing glaive in the trees materializes to catch the airborne prince.

Roasted glaive had also leapt in the same direction. A head on collision seemed inevitable.

 

Hissy glaive catches the wide-eyed prince and turns his body to avoid the still-flying-half roasted glaive. He tries to sidestep away, but his foot runs out of dock and instead meets thin air. He tips into the water.

 

With the prince 'secured', roasted glaive grabs for the rod instead.  Mid-air, he grabs his own kukris and throws it towards the tree beyond the dock. He crashes into said tree. The fish, suddenly yanked backwards through the line, sails through the air after him and flops on the ground.

Hissy glaive-now hissy wet glaive, stood waist deep in the water, holding a thankfully still dry prince above his head.

 

"Well that turned out better than I had expected."

The king stands over the cooler, a pen sticking into Dario, all his escape attempts for naught.

 

"Did you actually just-"

"What the hell was that your Majest-"

 

"I knew I could trust you, my glaives."

 

"Are you serious right now?"

"Really your Majesty? REALLY?"

 

"I trust you both explicitly with my life-and my son's. You've proven that you truly are the best."

 

"With all due respect, you can't sweet talk your way out of this."

"You can't do that! Can he? You can't just pull off shit like that!"

 

"Yes I can. I'm the king."

 

"… I am so telling the Shield."

"Do you think he'll believe us?"

 

"Clarus won't believe you."

 

"Uhm, yes he would."

"Oh Ramuh, I can't believe this just happened."

 

Hissy wet glaive gets out of the waist high water, covered in shallow lake muck. He stomps over to the crib and carefully deposits the royal prince, then stomps over to the other glaive while glaring at Regis. Hissy swings a punch that lands on Roasted’s face.

 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I can't very well punch the king.”

 

Regis scoffs. “You can try.”

 

“I‘m sorry. I needed to get that out.”

“Shut up. You're paying for dinner and buying me a very alcoholic drink.”

“Fair enough.”

“You're both gross.” A third voice comes through the trees, female this time.

 

“What the hell, you were watching this whole time?” Hissy glaive is pissed again.

Roasted glaive just laughs.

“Marshal and the Shield did warn us about interacting with the king and I quote ‘getting roped into his antics’.”

“He did didn't he?”

“We totally played into it.”

“Like the idiots that you are.”

 

“I'm not that bad.” Regis walks over to the glaives to retrieve his rod and pick up the flipping fish. “Thank you for catching Leda.”

 

“Catching councilmen for dinner? How cute. You know we could catch you the real ones, your Majesty.”

“I'll keep that in mind…”

“...”

“...”

 

“You know, I would appreciate getting your names.”

 

“After today's events? Not a chance.”

“Why not?”

“The Shield and the Marshal have given us a pass to refuse your orders out of self preservation, unless you or the prince are in jeopardy.”

 

“You're serious.”

 

The two glaives nodded.

“Yup.” She said from the trees, popping the P's.

“Speaking of the shield, he’s just entered the conservation park. You two should make yourselves scarce.”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh Six.” They each retrieve their kukris and throw them in opposite directions, vanishing shortly after.

 

Regis sighs. “You just cost me my entertainment.”

“I'm just looking after those two idiots. No one can bully them but me.”

Regis quirks an eyebrow.

“... And you, your Majesty.”

“I thought so.”

 

Regis plops Leda into the cooler and pulls it close to carriage so Noctis could watch their newest addition.

He goes back to the edge of the dock, casting a fresh line when she speaks again.

 

“Just exactly as we were I see.”

“For Clarus’ peace of mind, yes.”

She laughs and is silent once more.

Regis liked her laugh. It was free-spirited and kind of reminded him how his wife used to sound.

 

It doesn't take long for another fish to bite, but this one pulled and fought back with the strength of an underwater garula-if there were any.

“I don't suppose I could ask for help again, could I?”

Someone snickers.

 

After a while, Clarus’ car comes into the parking lot of the lake. Regis looks over as Clarus waves and sends his shield a look. He's been playing tug of war with the fish

for quite some time now. His arms were beginning to ache and his knees were feeling it as well.

He hears a tone from his pocket and feels the vibration. His eyebrows furrow. That's wasn't supposed to happen because he had set his phone on silent and notifications were not supposed to come in unless-

 

Regis gasps.

He uses one hand to dig his phone out of his pocket, and tries to use the other arm to secure the rod without losing the fish. The rod was nearly yanked out of his hand so he tucks it under his arm and clamps the bottom part between his thighs. His other hand fumbles with the phone as he unlocks it and finally reads the message.

 

He stops pulling at the fish, letting the reel run freely as he tries to digest the message contents and its implications.

 

Cor wouldn't bullshit them like this, would he?

 

Well, he would but, would he? Really? While he was out on a mission? Who would he-why would he?

 

He hears wood crunching nearby but pays it no mind. The glaives were there, and Noctis was safe so he could afford to ignore it.

 

The reel runs out and the force of the line being pulled drags him along.

 

Damn that fish was strong. He should really check if underwater garulas exist.

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

**"How do I take care of a stolen baby?"**

 

  

“I think your message has just killed the king-but that's alright, we've got a spare who's still in diapers. But first, WHY THE HELLS DO YOU HAVE A STOLEN BABY? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE THIS TIME COR LEONIS?”

 

“If that baby’s got gears and wheels, then you gotta make sure it's got gas. If it's the human type, then I'm pretty sure it already does.”

 

“Cor I swear to the Six I will make prosciutto roses out of your entrails…. Do you need supplies? A clean up team? Retrieval? Passports? International pardon? Explosives?”

 

“Clarus probably thinks I'm dead. I’ll let him swim around the lake a little longer. Cor, if you wanted a baby that badly but couldn’t get around making one, you know I’d do everything to help you right? There’s no need to actually STEAL one. Now, I'll help you if you let me name the baby, AND I get to call you Daddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Teehee. 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh yeah, the responses at the end are their replies to Cor's first message-which is in the last story. It is literally the last line. 
> 
>  
> 
> Say Hi. Shout at me. Roast me. Say something.
> 
> I'll keep writing anyways hahaha.


End file.
